


War and Peace

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possession, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a friend.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam knew that saying yes to Lucifer would have consequences...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A bunch of typos I had over looked before now fixed (2.21.2012)

**Part I**

Now **this** was the big show.

Round two.

Fight.

 

. . .

 

Damn kid didn’t stand a chance. It would have been sad if he had given a shit, but Lucifer had other things shuffling through the fore front of his mind. Sam shouldn’t have been able to take back the reigns, but the boy had more chutzpa than he’d given him credit for. It was the sign of a perfect vessel – they always struggled just a little. Anyone who dove in willingly was a coward and a fool. Nick? He’d been both. Too easily tormented. The man’s mind had snapped like a dry twig.

Lucky for Nick, Lucifer had become rather fond of the middle aged blonde’s comfortably lax body. It didn’t hold up well up above, but technically he could look however he wanted down below. Hell was illusion. Your worst nightmare and his fondest dream. He could have been a cuddly puppy with fangs if he had really wanted, but back in the cage, Nick’s visage had been his first choice. Tall, perfectly muscled young men were severely overrated. There was something just too hilarious about looking so damn mild mannered while doing terrible things.

It was like having your eye lids ripped off by Mr. Rogers.

The minute they’d hit that vortex, it felt a great deal like being sucked through a vacuum face first. They didn’t fall – they were pulled. Sam, Adam, Michael, and himself. One big happy family. Four men, two bodies, and a one way ticket back to the pit.

Fact of the matter was that there were safe guards. Lucifer had been the first angel to fall, but saying that he ran Hell was a misunderstanding that most creatures – angels, demons, and humans alike suffered under the delusion of. He had a cage. Some liked to call it a throne, but that was bullshit that the demons had come up with.

They worshiped him like some sort of fucked up father figure and while he found it endearing at times, it was usually a thorn in his side. The only good that had come of their misplaced adoration was that his darling little Lilith had found a way to spring him free.

Fat lot of good that did now. He was right back where he had started and that, above all else, made him angry. Do you know how it felt to stretch your legs after several millennia of being locked up? He had gone centuries. Alone. Nothing to do but watch his creations multiple like he insects they were. One twisted soul begot many. They were legion. They were fun to watch but… oh so predictable.

Lilith had been easy. Pretty thing. Meant to be the mate of God’s favorite. He had crafted her especially for him. But what was Adam when compared to the beauty of God’s first sons? Angels were not built to envy or desire, but Lucifer had. He wasn’t the only one, but he was the one who took the blame for the rebellion.

All he had wanted was to show God that humans were a useless endeavor but his Father had taken it as a slight. His brothers had turned against him. Michael had cast him down to Earth without so much as a second thought. It didn’t take long for the one who was once the most beautiful and most cherished to be further punished for wreaking havoc against God’s new favorites. He had been under the impression that what happened on Earth stayed on Earth but apparently he’d been wrong. God didn’t take kindly to Lucifer seducing Adam’s first wife.

So he might’ve been a little bitter. Yeah. Just a little.

Oh! But how better to take out all of those frustrations than on the so-called boy with the demon blood? Demon blood, his ass. Like that meant anything. They were all roaches, some were just more useful than the rest. Lilith had created Alastair and Azazel, who in turn put out a whole slew of underlings whose names he didn’t care to learn. A few had sold their souls for hilariously stupid things – like Crowley and Ruby. Others, like the loyal one who had taken to calling herself Meg, had been tortured until they turned and took up the trade themselves. At the very least, he had always been able to watch Alastair work his magic while he was rotting away inside of his cage.

The man was Tchaikovsky with a straight razor.

 

. . .

 

When they hit the floor of the pit, it was jarring. The sort of thing that could knock you right out of a host. Luckily he had a pretty good hold on the giraffe of a man. His cage was large, but it wasn’t meant for his brothers. The same idiotic Enochian shit that kept him in kept them out. Michael was in Hell, for certain, but he wasn’t here. He and that two-bit excuse for a vessel he was wearing had probably been flung to some other far corner. That was the great thing about Hell. Unlimited growth potential.

With a groan that was more annoyance than pain, he had picked Sam’s body up from the cold, hard ground and gave it a shake. He had done it before, but the amusement he got from jerking his puppet around on its marionette strings would never get old. The hunter fought him every step of the way, but there wasn’t a whole lot you could do when Lucifer himself was carting around your meat suit, now was there?

“You hang in there, Sammy.” The words came from the brunette’s mouth, the young hunter’s voice lilting with Lucifer’s amusement. They had smacked into the floor hard enough to crack Sammy’s pretty little head on the stone, but that was really the least of his problems. Sam knew that much. “I’ve gotcha now. Nothing to fear.”

Understatement of the century.

It had been a wild ride, these past couple of weeks. Sam fit him like a glove and the kid had shown him a better time than he’d seen in… forever. All those miserable sad sacks of demon scum that they’d been using to watch over Sammy boy since he was just an awkward gangly little thing? Perfect target practice. And oh how it hurt him. It didn’t matter that they were all spies and liars. He felt something for those people. Those strangers who, even without demons wrapped around their brain stems, wouldn’t have thought as the kid as any more than dirt beneath their shoes. Ignorant, pathetic little military brat who couldn’t stay in one school for longer than a few months because dear ol’ dad loved the idea of revenge more than he loved his sons.

Lucifer could relate. Maybe that’s why he liked Sam so much.

“We have a lot in common, you and I,” he mused as he absently rubbed at his left shoulder. It was an innocent gesture, an attempt to rub the soreness out of the stiff muscles, but it was enough to make the hunter balk. He could feel it in his head. Sharing that space with the hazel eyed man was interesting to say the least. Although he had full control of the body, Sam didn’t shy away from fighting tooth and nail.

_Don’t touch me._ Sam’s words rung between his ears. _Just… don’t._

Lucifer furrowed his brow – technically, he furrowed Sam’s brow – and frowned. That silly puppy dog pout of his. This guy wasn’t capable of ever really looking angry. He was just too damn gentle. He’d always just be that sad, lonely little boy.

“Best you get used to it kid,” Lucifer said with a smirk as he wandered toward the flat, black water that lapped up at the edges of the shore line. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other for a very, _very_ long time. Or did you forget that I own you? You said yes, Sammy. You know what yes means? It means _yes_.”

He’d never been particularly surprised that God had designed his caged to be so damn… serene. It was like his Father was trying to make some sort of point, but had forgotten what that point was half way through. God was absent minded at best. After all, how else do you explain the platypus? Lucifer’s cage wasn’t like the rest of Hell. It was quiet and it was eternally night, but it was actually kind of beautiful if you didn’t mind how unsettling it was to have a sky with no stars.

The air was still, as it always had been. There was no breeze but it was just edging in on too cold. The skeletal trees clawed upward at the blue-black sky like they were trying to rip it down. Scraggly grass covered the ground in patches, at least where the black stone didn’t show through. The space didn’t go on forever, however. It was confined by water on all sides, like a shadowy little island in the middle of a placid lake.

The water barely moved the surface a dark mirror that reflected back the void of the sky. As he leaned down, kneeling at the water’s edge, Sam Winchester’s face shone back up at him, all floppy brown hair and too-kind puppy dog eyes. How a man who was six and a half feet tall could manage to look so _soft_ , he had no idea. Maybe it was just one of those things that would forever remain a great mystery of the universe.

Falling flat on his face had left a scuff mark across Sam’s nose and cheek, a gritty abrasion that would likely turn into a stippled purple bruise given a few days. Not that time here paid attention to anything as boring as hours or days or years. Time just sort of… went. In the blink of an eye ten, fifty, five hundred years were gone. Meanwhile on the surface, only a matter of minutes may have passed. Time was fluid down here. Time was tricky.

Beyond the reflection of his face, Sam could see something more. It seemed to be a ripple at first, like plants churning beneath the surface, but he realized in horror that he was seeing hell beneath the gentle sway of the water. Bodies writhing and twisting, some alone, some piled high upon each other. Struggling against their bonds, screaming in silent muted agony as clever hands tore their flesh from their still living forms. Limbs with meat picked clean down to the bone. Mouths that shrieked through blood that spilled from a severed tongue.

Sam was fairly certain he was going to be ill. It wasn’t his choice whether to look or not, however, and Lucifer was enjoying the scene.

“Home sweet home,” he chuckled as he pushed himself up from the water and stretched his arms over his head. Running his vessel’s hands down along his sides, they came to rest at Sam’s hips as he swayed in place. “Ah, well. We had a good run, didn’t we Sammy?”

_Stop calling me that. And stop touching me._

“So grumpy,” he pouted. “Who pray tell, is going to stop me? Huh? This is kinda fun actually. Aw, look at that. However did that happen? You need to talk to your tailor, Sam.”

Lucifer gasped is mock surprise as he tugged the one edge of the hunter’s shirt, buttons popping as he tore it open in one deft movement. The young man growled wordlessly in the back of his head, but that just made the angel smile in a bright, boyish way. Well that was interesting. He had thought that Sam could only be riled up by the destruction of life, but apparently he had a hard time swallowing the devil toying with his body as well. Not as selfless as he claimed. Lucifer hadn’t considered this angle before, but without anyone else to use as bait… he needed a fresh, fun way to torment the man who had caused him so much grief and had failed him so thoroughly.

This really, genuinely bothered the younger Winchester.

Yes. This was fantastic. What a simple, pathetic answer. So very… human.

Banal? Yes. Pedestrian? Yes. Entertaining?

Testing his theory, Lucifer discretely ran a hand along his (Sam’s) stomach, finger tips just barely dipping down into his pants. A low shudder crept up along the hunter’s spine and he whimpered mentally. Entertaining. Yes. Sam had already been so very good these past few weeks. After a few days he had almost gotten used to the killing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t murdered demons before. The kid had practically sucked the marrow out of them.

No good deed went unpunished with Lucifer.

Smirking, he decided that he was determined to see how much he could make his vessel squirm. It wasn’t that Lucifer didn’t enjoy sex, but it was something that after a few hundred years, you tended not to crave any longer. What he wanted out of Sam had nothing to do with any sort of physical satisfaction. His vessel had failed him. That was not acceptable.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” he asked the man who was no more than a voice in the back of his own head. “You and that overly dramatic brother of yours? That was real cute what you did back there. So damn cute, Sam. Real good trick, Sam. Betcha think that throwing yourself in here with me makes you some sort of big damn hero, don’t ya?”

Pushing the now buttonless blue plaid shirt away from the hunter’s chest, he ran the tip of his tongue over dry lips. It’d been a while, but Lucifer was fairly certain he still knew all the steps to this particular dance. Sauntering over to a low outcropping of rock, he leaned back against the jagged surface and let his borrowed eyes wander down over the body that was under his control. Sam really was a fine specimen of a human – if you liked humans.

_This isn’t fair. Lucifer. What the fuck are you doing? Why would you even…? S-stop. Stop, Goddamn it! This wasn’t part of the deal. I never said…_

“You talk too much,” he mumbled as he pushed a hand down over the denim of the hunter’s pants. Sam’s body lurched in surprise, hips arching toward the rudimentary touch, eliciting a pleasant tingling sensation. “Hm. Interesting.” Pressing the flat of his palm against the jeans, he forced the hunter’s long fingers to cup and squeeze. There was a dull throb that coursed through him as the flesh beneath the denim twitched. Mentally, Sam huffed and recoiled. Not that he could do a damn thing about how his body responded.

“Oh c’mon buddy. Not like you’ve never done this before.”

_Fucking bastard. I swear, I’ll…_

“Sticks and stones, Sam. Sticks and stones. If I were you I’d be nice. Remember who’s wearing the pants in this relationship.” Just to prove his point, Lucifer curled the fingers tighter, squeezing the hunter’s balls roughly through his jeans. As he had expected, Sam let out a short, helpless gasp in the back of his head. Truth be told it may have made him flinch just a little bit too, but Lucifer had far few qualms with pain than Sam Winchester did. “Maybe you’ll learn to like it, Sammy.”

The time for pleasantries had passed. Ignoring the panicked sounds that Sam was making inside of his skull, he popped the button and undid the fly on the jeans. Shifting his hips, he let them sink down to his knees. Lucifer watched, because that meant that Sam was forced to watch. This was a lesson in humility for the boy. You don’t screw over the morning star and get away with it. This was child’s play next to what he had lined up for the hunter, but he liked to save the best for last.

First you beat them down. Then you really work them over. Degradation was such a useful tool.

Horror ran both cold and hot through his veins as Sam was forced to watch Lucifer manipulating his body. Against his will, his body tilted back against the rock and one hand rummaged around indelicately, dropping his pants and boxers, wrapping fingers tight around his still mostly flaccid cock. The other wasn’t to be ignored, however, curious fingers splaying out over his chest, finding the bud of one dark nipple and pinching the ever loving shit out of it.

The hazel eyed man hissed and groaned, frustrated that the sounds never actually passed his lips. Lucifer controlled his tongue just the same as the rest of his body and at best, the fallen angel made quiet sounds of interest. Like he was doing some sort of goddamned experiment. Not even sounds of pleasure. Just mild “ _hmm_ ” noises like he was reading a book or looking at a painting. All the while his eyes were directed down, hardly even blinking, as he forced Sam to watch the unwanted moment of his own fingers. Stroking and squeezing, tugging and twisting until his cock ached desperately for more attention.

_Fuck. You. Fuck you, you stupid demonic prick._ Sam was gasping.

“Angel. Thank you… very much.” Lucifer was slightly bemused to find that the hunter’s arousal had left him a bit breathy. Oh, the downfalls of physiology. So long as he remained within this vessel, he was going to feel everything he did to it. That could be a pro or a con depending on how you looked at it, he thought idly as he moved Sam’s hand faster, squeezing his hand tightly around the head in such a way that the hunter made a strangled sound.

This was all well and good, he reasoned as he flicked his thumb over the tip, watching as a sticky, clear thread of precum smeared across the surface. But this wasn’t really that awful, was it? Forcing an adult male to jerk off was like forcing a five year old to eat ice cream. No one was _really_ losing here. Didn’t matter how much Sam complained. Physically he still wanted it.

“Don’t you, Sammy?”

_Shut… s-shut up._

“Thought so.”

Time to up the ante just a little. Shuffling out of the clothing that had fallen down around his ankles, Lucifer shifted against the rock. Lying on the ground just seemed so crass, but there was a section of stone that stood out away from the rest, low enough to recline on. The body shivered at the cold beneath his thighs, but Lucifer didn’t think much of it. He was cold by nature – Sam would just have to get used to it.

At first he made an attempt to slick his fingers up using the precum alone, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Sammy may not have been a virgin, but in this instance, he was all shiny and new. So long as he was still riding the hunter as his vessel, he couldn’t do any of his particularly nifty tricks – so he’d have to settle for saliva. One hand still avidly pumping around Sam’s (admittedly impressive) cock, Lucifer shoved two from his other hand into the brunette’s mouth, forcing him to suck. Amusingly, the action made the young man’s already hard shaft throb.

The angel relinquished the fingers from his mouth, leaving them dripping as he laughed. “Does that do it for you, Sammy boy? Strange thing to get hard over. Kinda gay if you ask me. I’d ask whether you’d given it a go before but I feel like I might already know the answer. Don’t worry, I love my family too.” He snorted . “Brothers can really be a bitch. Or I guess you’d be the bitch in that scenario.”

_N-no, I never. Not with Dean. I wouldn’t ever…. nhhhh !_

Lucifer just rolled those borrowed hazel eyes. He’d had enough of Sam’s back talk. Saliva coated fingers brushed against the underside of his cock, dragging along the patch of sensitive skin below, but not stopping to tease and taunt the man further. If Sam didn’t want to play, the fallen angel was not above making him far more miserable far more quickly. He cut off the hunter’s words in one decisive movement. Propping one leg up against the rock, he pressed not one but both fingers into Sam.

There was a sudden, distinct burn. Something that, for the younger Winchester, must have been incredibly unpleasant. Lucifer was nonplussed. Shoving the digits deeper, to the second knuckle, the brunette let out a sharp cry that rung off of the insides of his skull. Now _that_ was what he wanted to hear. Drawing the fingers slowly back out, Sam was left panting, trying desperately to steel himself against the onslaught that he knew was bound to come but finding no way to prepare since he had absolutely no control over his muscles.

With one hand still working his cock, the other began to assault his ass. Unable to move, unable to even scream aloud, Sam was trembling and helpless within his own head as Lucifer molested him with his own hands. Never had the hunter been so excruciatingly aware of himself. His fingers were too long, too thick. He could feel every ridge along his shaft as his dry palm grasped the skin and worked it roughly. It was all too much. When his fingers were forced deeper, when they stretched apart, there was a part of Sam that acknowledged he would have blacked out if he were in control.

But he wasn’t. And he couldn’t. And all he had was the pain.

For as much as he hated to hear his own voice mocking him, it was almost more frightening that Lucifer had gone quiet. It meant he was concentrating. Really getting into it. Sam could hear his breath coming in quick pants through parted lips. His eyes had begun to sink shut. Small mercies that he wasn’t being forced to watch any longer, but Lucifer had let that part fall by the way side as he dedicated himself to driving Sam toward a forced orgasm.

If there had been any way to fight it, he would have. It was humiliating. Horrifying. The thought that his body could be used like this against his will. An act that should have meant nothing was used as a weapon. As soon as Lucifer began to speak again, Sam regretted that he had thought it was worse without his voice.

“So fucking pathetic,” Lucifer crooned in his voice, thick with desperation. “So damn easy to control. All you are is reactions. A meat suit full of chemicals and pheromones. Slave to whatever gets you off. What disgusting creatures you are. Dirty, imperfect things.” A sharp laugh actually managed to startle Sam. “You can say no all you want but your body wants this, Sam. You can feel it. _I_ can feel it. Fuck.”

_Fuck -_

In an instant pain transformed into something even worse. It hurt, but it hurt in a way that made Sam’s spine light up, from the tip of his tail bone to the base of his skull. Both of his hands worked furiously as a pool of heat flooded his stomach, clawing through his guts and leaving him a trembling, moaning mess. The rough pads of his fingers closed over the head of his cock as it twitched, unwanted pleasuring hitting him like a cement brick to the back of the head. Lucifer had let his eyes squeeze closed – or maybe the prince of Hell just couldn’t help it. Sam couldn’t see anything more, but he could feel the orgasm rip through him as he came, shooting off against his own skin, leaving a hot sticky trail all down his abdomen.

Lucifer was panting.

No.

_He_ was panting, he realized weakly as he slowly opened his eyes of his own accord to see that all too familiar blonde haired, blue eyed face looking down at him with avid interest. Lucifer stood with arms crossed, weight shifted to one side as he shook his head. Smiling, he clucked his tongue at the ruined hunter.

“Tsk tsk, Sammy. Never took you for such a slut.”

 

[Continued in Chapter 2]


	2. Alone in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam isn't sure how long he's been in the cage with Lucifer, but the prince of Hell has strange ways of showing his affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Reverted to secondary chapter (2.25.2012)

**Part II**

**  
**

Sam knew he should have been thankful that he got any sleep at all. But it was difficult to feel any sort of gratitude toward the man who had taken to treating him like a toy. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been in the cage with Lucifer now. A day? A week? It could have been years. He didn’t try to keep track – he didn’t  _want_  to keep track.

There were “good” days and “bad” days.

On a good day, Lucifer would leave him alone completely. Wearing the visage of the blonde haired, blue eyed man that he had taken as his temporary vessel on the surface the devil would sink into a fit of self-loathing. He would disappear, gone away to brood in a way that Sam had never expected from the prince of Hell. On a good day, Sam would curl up as small as possible and hope that his tormentor would give him just a few more hours of peace.

Lucifer had power here. Not the sort that would allow him to escape, but the sort that could warp the young hunter’s perception of things around him. He had tried a few different settings before he found the one that he decided would hurt Sam the most. This was how Sam Winchester found himself held captive in the one place he had ever considered stable. The only place he had ever considered  _home_.

Bobby’s. That creaky, tilted little house perched in the cluttered auto salvage, rusty piles of cars, cracking paint and all. Lucifer had reached into his head, plucking out long forgotten memories from a time when this place had been more of a nightmare than a safe haven. How gloomy and horrible it had looked when Sam was four years old – the first time they had been unceremoniously dropped off on Bobby’s front step. The older hunter had reeked of cheap whiskey and kept the brim of his hat pulled down so low that for a time Sam had thought that he didn’t actually  _have_ eyes. He had clung to Dean’s side that entire week, too horrified to let go.

The scene that Lucifer had laid out wasn’t the warm, forgiving place that Sam had come to know over the years. It was the same house, the same junk yard, but threaded through with that glaze of dread from the brunette’s childhood. Inexplicable, but something from which he could not escape.

What that really meant was even the “good” days weren’t very good. Grown men didn’t tend to hide in closets or beneath beds in order to feel safe – but Sam had become talented at folding himself up when he could. As if Lucifer didn’t know exactly where he was at all times. As if the devil couldn’t have snapped his fingers and summoned the hazel eyed man to his side.

On the bad days, that was exactly what happened.

Today…?

Today was a bad day.

Sam wasn’t given a wakeup call so much as he was given a heart attack. In the dreamless black of unconsciousness, his body twitched and shifted. In the cramped space that he had last hidden himself in, between Bobby’s cluttered desk and the book shelf the temperature began to rise. It was the scent of smoke that forced his eyes to open.

The entire room was on fire, flames licking up along the dusty curtains, creeping across the hard wood floor and sparking the throw rug. Piles of newspaper clippings and already yellowing documents were curling and smoking and going up in ash. Scrambling to his feet, he struggled to pull his shirt off over his head and fling it away – the crackling books on the shelf having set him alight as he leaned back against them. Breathing hard, he swung around, rushed into the living room to find it in a similar state. He reached for the knob of the front door, but it was impossibly hot. Hissing in pain, he yanked his hand back against his chest, fingers curling into his burnt palm. Backing toward the kitchen, he could feel the panic rising up into his throat.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty!”

With a dull thud, Sam’s back hit something solid but soft. A pair of strong hands settled on his shoulders, which brought him to a full stop immediately. Spinning around, he fully expected to see his captor, but instead he was confronted by a worried pair of green eyes and a splash of pale freckles. He was wearing dad’s old leather jacket, the scuffed up old amulet that Sam had given him back dangling around his neck.

“Dean.” His hands went to his brother’s arms, grasping them to make sure that he was real. That he was solid. “Dean. Dean? How are you here?” Half crazed, he must have sounded and looked completely insane. Maybe he was completely insane. How long had he been in this place? “Dean. Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re here too. I don’t want you here.” His voice hitched. “I need you here, but I don’t want you here.”

“It’s alright, Sammy. We’re getting you out of here.” The older Winchester’s voice was gruff and apologetic. “It’s all gonna be okay now. You hear me?”

“I can’t do it anymore. It’s too hard,” Sam whispered, all of his resolve crumbling at the thought of finally being free. It was too good to be true. Just too good to be true. Dean couldn’t actually be here. He was only human. As if hearing his jumbled thoughts, the green eyed man frowned and brought a hand up to Sam’s cheek, brow furrowing sympathetically.

Before he realized what was happening, Dean’s hand had grasped a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back roughly. His brother was standing too close, their bodies flush together in the head of the burning room. Grimacing, his first reaction was to push at the smaller man’s shoulders, but he was immovable. There was a warm gust of breath on his throat and Sam shuddered, swallowing hard.

“Not like this,” he managed to whisper. “Please.”

Dean’s mouth was moving, finding the place where his pulse had struck a rapid chord, and biting down hard enough to make Sam cry out. Hard enough to leave deep gouges in the surface of his tan skin where blood began to well, dripping down the long line of Sam’s neck, painting his collar bone. A warm, wet tongue followed that line, licking at the sticky red that clung at the hollow of his throat.

“ _Please_.” Sam had learned quickly that Lucifer liked it when he begged. If he asked hard enough, enough times, in just the right way sometimes the fallen angel would change his game. With a cheesy smile that fit Dean’s face far too well, the green eyed man sighed and released his grasp on the younger Winchester’s hair, letting his hand slide along Sam’s jaw instead. His tongue flickered out over his lips – long, forked, stained crimson. Even as Sam stared, the body before him melded, shifting, stretching.

Still wearing the leather jacket and amulet, the blonde smirked, one hand coming back up to hold Sam’s chin in a mockery of tenderness. Smiling lopsidedly, blue eyes peered at Sam.

“I thought you would have been happy to see your brother,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

Unable to bring himself to reply, Sam just glared, another swallow causing the blood to ooze faster down the side of his neck. Lucifer chewed on his lower lip for a moment, eyes flashing between Sam’s face and the blood before he moved his mouth to the source again. An uneasy breath blustered out of the hunter’s lungs and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the press of Lucifer’s body against his.

It was easy to let his mind wander, shuffling through pointless memories of Stanford as a too-masculine hand moved up over his ribs, rough fingers grazing down along his side until that hand was sliding into the back of his pants. Clawing through his boxers, Lucifer yanked him closer until Sam could feel the threatening ridge of tenting jeans against his thigh. There was something maddening about these moods that the angel would get into. Instead of just strapping him down and taking him, Lucifer gave in to some strange need for tenderness.

Sam almost preferred hard and quick to this drawn out mockery of… whatever this was.

“Why do tense?” Lucifer crooned. “Oh wait. I know. Is this better?”

There was a distinct change in the shape and mass of the person leaning into him. In an instant, Lucifer had been replaced by a beautiful blonde, wavy hair falling over her shoulders as kind, mischievous eyes peered up from below. Between the familiar birthmark on her forehead and the soft curve of pink lips, Sam would have known her anywhere. God, he even  _smelled_  like her.

But he wasn’t her.

“You’re disgusting,” Sam whispered as he looked away.

“That hurts, Sam,” Jessica’s smile tugged into a pretty pout. “I just want to show you how much I love you. You miss hearing that, don’t you? I love you Sam Winchester. Soooo much.”

“You aren’t her.”

“Might as well be. I have her face. Her  hands. Her  _mouth_.” Jessica wiggled against him, nipping at his chin as she squashed her breasts against him. Sam used to love how small she was. How he could pick her up and sling her over his shoulder with no trouble at all. She teased him about how big he was – how she was amazed he could even fit through a doorway without having to duck.

He had loved her more than life itself. She had been his chance to get out of what seemed to be an inevitable existence. Sam had been raised to be a hunter, but it had never been his choice. Jess didn’t know about any of that. She had treated him like a normal human being. Not something broken. The night he had seen her on the ceiling… he knew it was all over.

He was never going to be normal. He was never going to be safe.

It had made him sick when Lucifer had come to him as Jess before, back when he and Dean had decided to go their separate ways for a time. There was a vulnerability that the angel had seen in Sam and he latched onto it. Now he was exploiting that same weakness.

Delicate hands with slender fingers trickled over his chest, sliding down ever so slowly until she was undoing his pants. Sam kept his eyes pointed upward, jaw clenched as he did his best to ignore how familiar she felt against him, how badly he missed her and wanted her. Years had passed but there wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t think of her.

The room was still burning. The whole goddamn house was burning but the flames never came quite close enough to touch them. Although he could feel them licking at his back, hot enough to scorch his skin, he wasn’t willing to step closer to Lucifer. Especially not when she was dropping down to her knees in front of him, pushing down his boxers without any warning at all.

Part of Sam wanted to look down. Wanted to remember how she used to look when she had been in that mood where she got playful, when she knew that she could turn him into putty with relatively little effort. Ugh, but this wasn’t Jess. It wasn’t  _Jess_. It  _wasn’t_  Jess. He repeated the words in his head like a mantra, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, fists clenched at his sides as she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, sucking slowly.

Her mouth was so warm… anger was overridden by begrudging pleasure. As he hardened, she made a quiet purring sound in the back of her throat. A wet, sloppy sweep of her tongue slicked up along the upper half of his shaft while one small hand worked the base roughly. He had lost track of her other hand, at least until he felt her index finger siding down along the crack of his ass.  _That_  was not something that Jess had ever done.

Licking idly at his slit, she let out a singular soft laugh. “Too kinky? My bad. Jessie was awfully vanilla. No appreciation for the finer things in life. We can change that, you know. She can be whatever you wanted her to be. Do whatever you wanted her to do.”

When Sam refused to respond, her eyes rolled and she sighed, turning her attention back to the cock that she had left dripping sloppily against her chin. Brushing her lips slowly against the skin just below the crown, she gave him a sudden sharp bite. The hunter grunted in surprise, his hand coming up without thinking to tangle his fingers in her hair, jerking her head away. Giggling, she licked her lips. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Come on, Sammy. I know you like it rough.”

“Ugh, get the hell away from me,” Sam growled as he quickly released her hair, starting to back up until he hit the wall of flame, cursing as they raced up along his spine. “ _Shit_. Fuck. Just stop this. What is the  _point_  of any of this?”

The question had diminished Lucifer’s desire to psychologically torment the brunette. Sam had become to assured of himself. The boy thought that he could get what he wanted if he begged. He had been too forgiving these past few days. He would have to make up for that now.

Jessica was gone, but Sam barely had a chance to find any relief in that fact as the fire which had been kept at bay flashed toward him. There was nowhere to run, no possibility of escape, and Sam screamed as the fire engulfed him. It was so hot that it felt  _cold_ , the immediate sizzling of his own flesh crackling in his ears as his hair was blown back by the gust of it. Every nerve in his body was lit up, wracked with pain. His clothing was going up in smoke.

“You’re making this so hard on yourself.” Lucifer was nowhere to be found but his voice boomed, knocking against the inside of Sam’s skull loud enough to make him wince enough through the pain. He was crumpling, crying out, clawing at his own skin. “Just say the word and I’ll stop. You know what I want to hear.”

“Ghhh… no… God, please.  _Nghhh!_ ”

“This can go on forever. What are you going to do, die? You’re in Hell, you idiot. God can’t hear you here and even if he could he probably wouldn’t give a shit. Get over yourself, kid.” He could feel flesh being stripped, fire burning down through muscle and sinew, boiling his marrow within his bones. Pain beyond reason and beyond words.

“ _I need you_ ,” he gasped suddenly, whimpering the words, tacking them on to the end of a piercing scream. “Please, I need you. I  _need_  you.” Sam repeated the words over and over, desperate, his mind reduced to purely instinctual fear. He would have said anything to make it stop. Anything to feel human again instead of this broiled piece of rotting meat that he was being reduced to.

Lucifer looked downright gleeful as the flames were whisked away, the burns that had claimed Sam’s twitching, shuddering body mending themselves, leaving now naked skin smooth and pink and fresh. Untouched. Virginal, really.

Panting on the ground, curled into himself, Sam was not too far gone to feel Lucifer pulling him easily to his feet, turning him and pushing him roughly against the heavy old desk that had been filled with papers and old half-finished bottles of booze before the fire had consumed them, leaving nothing more than black ash on the scratched surface. Forced to bend, the blonde kicked his feet apart, causing him to drop with his chest flat against the top of the desk.

Pressing his forehead against the wood, he could feel the ash smudging his skin, painting him dark as it mingled with his sweat and tears. A set of cold hands were moving behind him, rustling, unzipping. Lucifer could have easily wished his own clothes away, but that wasn’t part of the game. He was always fully clothed, while Sam was left in various states of undress. It made him feel exposed. Worthless. Used.

“What was that you said, Sam?” The formerly threatening growl of Lucifer’s voice had gone silky and smooth, strangely affectionate but taunting at the same time.

“I… I need you.” Sam whispered, face down on the desk. One hand came up to jerk his arms behind him, pinning his wrists solidly against the small of his back. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. The hunter could practically feel Lucifer smile as he took himself in hand, sliding the leaking head of his cock against Sam’s ass.

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

There was a sharp stab of pain as the fallen angel drove himself suddenly into the hazel eyed man, the thick head of Lucifer’s cock stretching him wide. Sam could do little but grunt, cringing and gasping. The automatic tensing of his muscles only made matters worse. It didn’t matter how many times this had happened. Ten, twenty, thirty times since they had first fallen into the cage together? Every time was like the first. Every time hurt. It was something he simply couldn’t get used to.

He had been half hard before, but between the horror of the fire and the pain of this torment, he had gone completely flaccid. It was something that seemed to bother Lucifer at times, but now wasn’t one of those times. Sharp, blunt nails bit into the newly mended skin of his hip as the man behind him thrust again, ramming deeper into the young hunter. There was no gradual increase in speed. No chance for him to adapt to the painful intrusion. But Lucifer knew exactly what he was doing. Little by little he had been training Sam to respond to his touch. Teaching him how to crave this pain so that when he inevitably broke down from every other torture, unable to take any more, he would squirm and heave and cry but he would genuinely mean those words: I need you.

It was a clever game, reducing the one straight laced hunter to a moaning, begging whore. It was like one big joke to Lucifer – seeing how quickly he could strip that stubborn Winchester resolve away. He had watched what Alastair had done to Dean, but he had decided to take a different route. Alastair hadn’t craved Dean’s love – in fact, he had desired the man’s unwavering hatred. Lucifer was desperate (yes, he’d admit it) for Sam’s loyalty. He would make Sam Winchester  _his_  in every meaning of the word.

Leaning over the hunter’s body, his shirt sticking to Sam’s well-muscled back, his forked tongue shot out to lick at the sweat that had beaded between those strong shoulder blades. “This is what you need, isn’t it? What you want?” The younger man shuddered, tossing his head back as he groaned, the sound threaded through with agony. Lucifer knew better than to trust anything that Sam said or did when he was shoved down on his stomach like this, though. He could make all the sad little sounds he wanted – the prince of Hell knew what Sam  _really_  wanted.

After a few more rough thrusts he had loosened Sam up enough to find a rhythm he could maintain. Not that he really had to worry about lasting – he could last forever, literally, if he wanted. This was more about finding that perfect point at which Sam started to melt. When he stopped struggling and started working  _with_  him instead of against him. He released the hunter’s hands, which immediately moved to grasp the far edge of the desk for support as each rutting thrust slammed him into the wood. Both of Lucifer’s hands moved up, one wrapping around the other man’s throat, the other clawing into his long brown hair and jerking his head backward, forcing him to arch wantonly.

Sam was gasping and Lucifer could feel each ragged breath beneath the fingers that grasped his throat hard enough to bruise. Shifting the angle at which he was driving just slightly, he buried himself into the hilt and was rewarded with a startled moan that burst from Sam’s mouth so hard and fast that he nearly choked on it.

“Heh. There it is.”

Taking full advantage of Sam’s unwanted arousal, he wound his fingers tighter into the brunette strands and picked up the pace. Slamming hard and deep into the hunter, he pulled back until the head of his cock had just slid out before pounding back in with full force. Sam was panting, moaning, fingers gone white as they held onto the desk. He wanted so badly not to give in to the spikes of electricity that wound about his spine and whited out his brain, but each time Lucifer drove into him the angel was stabbing directly into his prostate.

It was both too much and not enough. He didn’t want it – but he needed  _more_. The way that his half hardened cock was crushed against the desk was painful. So was the way that Lucifer’s hand cradled his throat like he had a vendetta against Sam’s ability to breathe. But it came together just as the blonde wanted, every last ounce of pain, fear, and embarrassment morphing into something that left the younger Winchester weak in the knees.

His cock was throbbing beneath him. Groaning, he realized belatedly that he had begun to buck back against the assault. Lucifer never made any sound. That was a given. Even when his thrusts became more erratic… even as he released Sam’s throat and hair, hands greedily clawing at his hips as he forced the hunter to remain still. Not even when he came, releasing only a low grunt of exertion as he filled Sam, fast and hot. The brunette cried out as he struggled to move, needing more friction, needing to be touched,  _needing_ …

But Lucifer pulled back suddenly, leaving him splayed on the desk, writhing and sweaty. The angel, meanwhile, looking none the worse for wear. Sweeping a hand back through his short blonde hair, Lucifer chuckled.

“Thanks, Sammy. That was nice. I’m impressed.”

This wasn’t the first time that Sam had been left, used and broken. He knew it wouldn't be the last. Maybe tomorrow Lucifer would forgive him for fighting and let him finish. Maybe not. It was impossible to tell when Lucifer would give him that relief. But it apparently wasn’t now.

“We should do this again sometime, bunk buddy.”

And then he was gone and Sam was alone in the dark room all over again.


End file.
